Page 88 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
“Family secret,” Big Jim says, grinning wide enough to show his gold tooth. “But it involves sweet potato, bourbon, a dangerous amount of cinnamon, and my special vanilla syrup.”
The filling’s still molten, and Makena’s doing this thing with her tongue to avoid burning it, that’s making me want to kiss her.
But then, what doesn’t?
“I need at least two more,” she announces, already reaching for her daisy-print fanny pack.
“Slow down, F.C.,” I say, catching her hand. “We have ten more booths to hit. Minimum. You gotta pace yourself.”
She pouts, her lips pushing into a puffy little pillow, and that’s it. I have no choice but to kiss her. Right there, in front of Big Jim and the shadow of the twenty-foot bratwurst.
“Keep it in your pants, children,” a familiar voice says. We break apart to find Nana beside us in her red skirt, a shirt that says “I Put the SASS in SAUSAGE,” and rhinestone-studded sunglasses.
“Well, well,” I tease. “Someone’s finally up and at ‘em.”
“I’ll wake up early when I’m dead,” she says. “But good thing I got here when I did. There was only one place left on the sign-up list, and clearly, you two are destined for greatness in the kissing contest.”
“Kissing contest?” Makena asks, as warning bells go off in my head.
“Nana, you didn’t,” I say, experiencing a flashback to the time she and Dorothy put on quite a show at the kissing contest when I was ten. Way too much grandma tongue on display that day.
Pretty sure I’ve never blushed that hard, before or since.
Her grin turns wicked. “You ever know me to lie about something as important as a contest with a commemorative t-shirt as a prize?”
Before I can tell her what a pain in the ass she is sometimes, a man’s voice booms across the square, “Leo Parker and Makena DeWitt to the main stage, please. Leo and Makena to the main stage for the Sausage and Sizzle Challenge.”
“Get going,” Nana says, pushing us in that direction. “And do me proud. I want to see tongue. And don’t be afraid to get a little handsy, the crowd loves that.”
Makena’s laughing as we’re herded through the press of people already gathering for the show. “So, we just take turns kissing? Is that all?”
“You’ll see,” Nana says as we reach the stairs.
I take Mack’s hand, silently apologizing as we climb the stage to join the ten couples already assembled behind the MC, a man in lederhosen who goes by “Hubba Bubba” and takes his festival duties very seriously.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hubba booms, “welcome to the Sausage and Sizzle Challenge! Now, for any of you newcomers, who might not know how this works…”
He gestures to a table laden with sausages on sticks.
“First, our couples will feed each other a selection of our town’s finest sausages, earning points for speed, technique, and entertainment value. Then…” He pauses dramatically. “We’ll move on to the kiss-off. Best overall in both divisions wins the grand prize!”
The crowd cheers. Nana shouts something about getting handsy again, that makes me roll my eyes as I turn to Makena, “You okay with this?” I murmur. “If not, we can bail.”
She looks up at me, her eyes shining. “Are you kidding? I get to feed you sausage on a stick and then make out with you? Sounds like a good time to me.”
God, I love this woman.
I do. I really do.
“Couples, take your positions!” Hubba announces as the background track begins to play, a rollicking polka that adds to the absurdity.
We line up with the others. To our left are an unusually uptight-looking pair in khakis and short-sleeve shirts buttoned all the way to the top, who look like they might practice synchronized kissing. To our right are two teenagers who definitely snuck beer before noon and can’t stop giggling.
So far, I’m liking our chances of taking this thing home.
“And…begin!” Hubba blasts his air horn, and Makena grabs an andouille on a stick with a determination that’s arousing.
And a little scary.
